Forsaken
by The CheezHead
Summary: I’ve already wasted all the real tears hours ago. When we found the note. That stupid note with that stupid one word. “Sorry.”


﻿ 

**FORSAKEN**

The well-wishers have been coming by all day, and to be quite frank I wish they'd all go away and leave me the hell alone. They've all brought their meatloaf and their jell-o. Plus they're all preening around my mother, and I know she's loving the attention. She always loves being the center of attention. Even in circumstances such as these.

I've been hiding up in my room all day, trying to steer clear of the old ladies and their sympathies. What makes them think they have the right to feel sorry for me? Because I know they don't have that right.

"Cynthia, come down we're eating now." My mother calls up the stairs at me.

"Who says I'm hungry?" I shout back at her. I can practically see everyone giving her looks of pity, as if to say _Oh, you poor woman. Your husband ran away and now you have to deal with your daughter all by yourself._

"I just thought..."

"You thought wrong."

"Well if you change your mind..."

"I won't."

I can practically hear the guests mouths drop. It really bugs me, how these people we haven't seen since god knows when, can suddenly show up on our doorstep bringing gifts of meatloaf.

Jeez, do I hate meatloaf. And if this keeps up I'm gonna be eating meatloaf forever. Which is terrible, cause then you gotta heat it up and there's nothing worse than re-heated meatloaf.

Oh, so now I'm uncaring. Just because I'd rather think about meatloaf than about the fact that my dad skipped town. Well if your dad skipped out on you which would you rather think about, him leaving or meatloaf? Yeah, that's what I thought. Meatloaf.

But I'm crying inside. I've already wasted all the real tears hours ago. When we found the note. That stupid note with that stupid one word. "Sorry." Like that one word's gonna make it all right. Like apologizing for it's gonna ease the pain. Well, let me tell you: it doesn't. When I read that one word it was like my world came crashing down. And I didn't think I could ever stop crying. Now I don't think if I wanted to I could.

Flopping back on my bed, I catch a glimpse of the picture of me, mom, and dad. Seeing his face brings a new rush of rage, and I hurl the picture across the wall. Its frame shatters into infinitesimal pieces, which is what I feel like. Like by leaving, he's broken me into thousands of little pieces. So many that I feel as if I can never feel the same again.

A tentative knock comes at my door. "What do you want?" I snap.

Someone opens the door and peers her head inside. I let out a sigh of relief as I see it's Libby. "Hey." She greets me cautiously.

"Hey."

"How are you holding up?"

I laugh bitterly, "Not good."

"Yeah, I figured. The fact that you were yelling at your mom was a giveaway."

"When do I not yell at that woman?"

"Well, you normally don't yell at her in front of other people."

"True, but I figured that since this is a special occasion, I should take advantage of it. After all, it's not everyday that your dad skips town."

"Cindy . . ."

It was back. That stupid lump in my throat. God, just when I thought I couldn't cry anymore, now I feel the need to.

Libby must have sensed my distress because she sat next to me on my bed. "If you need to, you can cry."

"Thanks." Somehow, crazy as it may seem, it was easier to cry with her permission. She held her arms open and surrounded me with her caring embrace.

I feel closer to Libby, than to anyone else is my life. She's like a rock; always steady and ready to take care of me. She keeps me in check and prevents me from doing anything too drastic.

I don't know for how long we sat there together. But it was over too soon. Her mom called her and she had to go home. And I was left alone with my thoughts.

It seems weird, but I hate thinking. It seems whenever something happens that I don't like, I can't stop thinking about it. I can feel encompassing my thoughts encompassing me right now.

I'm having trouble breathing; my thoughts vibrating through my skull. Faster and faster. Why won't they leave me alone? Can't they just leave me alone?

With every questions comes new thoughts, until I'm drowning in them. And yet they keep coming. More and more. Tearing me apart. I feel them crawling up my spine and wiggling through my body.

He left because he didn't love you. He left because you weren't a good enough daughter. He left because you were never good enough. That's right, you were never good enough. You were never smart enough. Never nice enough. Never pretty enough. Never good enough. Not even close. You're stupid. And mean. And ugly. If you were a better daughter he'd still be here. If you were a better _person_ he'd still be here. You don't deserve that support from anyone. You don't deserve anything.

A knock at my door, drives the thoughts away. Temporarily of course. "Come in," I call wearily, praying it's not my mother.

Of course it is.

"Cynthia, I know this is a tough situation you're experiencing . . . "

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock."

"Watch your mouth young lady. Your father may have left, but that does not give you the right to back-sass your mother."

"Don't you tell me what I can and can't do!" I screamed back at her. "And don't you ever talk about that man again! Ever again! I don't want to hear his name mentioned! He's dead to me! And so are you! You never once supported me and you were always pushing me! For once just go away and LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!"

She seemed taken aback by my outburst. I didn't care though. I was ready to take out all of my anger on her, should she reprimand me.

I thought I saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, but it quickly vanished. "Well, Cynthia, if that's how you really feel. If you want anything I'll be downstairs."

"I don't want anything from you." I spat the words at her. Enjoying her pain.

She went to leave, but turned. "This is for you." She handed me a letter and walked out of the room.

Curiously I looked at it. It was a plain white envelope, but somehow I felt as if it held some great importance. Cautiously I opened it and began reading:

_Cindy,_

_By this time, I'm sure you're aware of my disappearance. Let me assure you that this had nothing to do with you. (I know how you think). I only ran because I can't put up with all the pressures that being a parent in a small town brings. I can't stand having everyone know my business and know my daughter. It's nothing against you . . . or your mother. I just needed to get away._

_Love always,_

_Dad_

I crumpled the letter. It was the biggest pile of bullshit I had ever seen. Who did he think he was kidding? Did he think that some stupid scribbled note would make me feel better?

I don't think I ever want to see that man again. He just left and I know he's not coming back. In all honesty, I don't know what I'd do if he came back.

-

A/N: Yet again, another random inspiration. I found part of this saved on my computer, and I decided to finish and post is. Please review. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.


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